Bury Me in Black
by PRETTYPRINCESSchan
Summary: [The Undertaker x Original Character] The overly complicated life of the little Lady Phantomhive, and the simple love of a mysterious town mortician.
1. His Auntie, Disenchanted

**"His Auntie, Disenchanted."**

_Disenchanted: _past participle, past tense of_ dis·en·chant_

_Verb:_ Freed from illusion; disappointed.

* * *

London, they used to fondly refer to me as the _little _Lady Phantomhive, and it was a nickname that stuck well-past the years in which I was only beginning to become of age. I suppose it was an appropriate term of endearment for a tiny tot like myself that was never seen if not attached obstinately to the trouser leg of the Earl of Phantomhive's dresspants, but as I matured I could not help but to develop an aggravated aversion for it.

After all, I had already outgrown all things that would have originally marked me as juvenile – my governess, my porcelain dolls, and even my beloved riding pony: Rutherford. Yet, despite such things, I was nearing twenty one years of age and still cursed by the once beloved identify. My elder siblings had long since been welcomed into the world of holy matrimony with individuals of high noble esteem and each of them had already been blessed with bouncing bundles of joy, and the youngest of which, Ciel Phantomhive and Elizabeth Midford, were already predestined to be betrothed. Life was progressing with all of those around me, but I, Florence Ruxandra Phantomhive, was still living in the shadow of childhood innocence and suffering the fate of a premature spinster due to my reputation as well as my infuriatingly diminutive physique.

It was something I had often found rather ironic, though, that the only solace I would ever receive from such a babyish fate was granted to me only by children who were much younger and condemned to an ephemeral version of the very same fate. It used to be that my elder sister's son Edward was the only one able to alleviate my woes, but as he too began to age in both looks and appearance, he no longer looked the part of an innocent little Lord Midford and despairingly enough, his look of adoration for his Auntie Ren had plunged into pure adulation alone. Almost desperately, I found myself looking elsewhere for comfort. Fortuitously enough, Edward was not the youngest of my family's growing brewd.

Being who he was, the upcoming Earl of Phantomhive and the son of Vincent, I knew not to put too much of my faith in the transient adolescence of Ciel, so instead I had turned my full attention to Lizzie. Like her mother and her aunt before her, Elizabeth would always maintain a face that, to some degree, exhibited a grace of childlike innocence, and whether or not it was coupled with the same blithe brazen that her mother perpetually displayed or with the charming demeanor that I had failed to escape was of little, ultimately inconsequential importance as long as she continued to somewhat look the part. So, in an odd way, I clung to her, befriended her, and lavished her in dresses and dolls of the finest variety. A charitable arrangement that, looking back now, I'm sure she incontestably appreciated.

I was known to have dresses tailored for her of the most expensive materials in all of Europe and in every shade of the rainbow that could be created through the use of pretty dyes, but the best dress I ever bought her was the only one she blatantly refused to wear. It was lacy and a vibrant shade of orange, the kind of luxurious garb that would have made my darling niece look like the sun personified. Ordinarily what I would have remembered most about the dress was that it cost a pretty penny, an incredible amount of the Queen's coins spent negligently on a dress that Lady Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford was only going to where for one simple occasion – the extravagant tenth birthday of the youngest heir of Phantomhive, but I think that the thing that stood out the most about it was, ironically, its incredible likeness to that of searing flames.

Originally, Lizzie had requested its color so that she could have something complimentary to the blue that the young master was famous for. I couldn't help but find her request the perfect opportunity to both please my favorite niece with a brilliant orange dress and satisfy my sweet little nephew with a suit that was a color that proved to be the exact opposite entirely of Lizzie's ballgown request. It was a spectacular concept for the likes of which the destitute dress shops in London simply would not do, so I took a trip to France – the fashion capital of the world, in my own opinion – and pursued the creative craftsmanship of the best designers in the world. It was winter then, as Ciel's birthday was amidst the bitter chill of December, and both the cobbled and dirt roads had been glazed over with a perilous sheet of ice. This had made traveling across the continent rather difficult, so my driver had insisted upon taking things slow for my own safety. Due to this stubborn decision, I arrived back at the mansion a day later than Ciel's original day of birth. I did not find the cheerful remnants of an aristocratic affair upon my return, but instead the charred remains of my childhood home. December 14th, 1885: that had been the day that Phantomhive Manor burned to the ground and along with it, the Earl and his immediate family.

I suppose that it was because the shock of the situation had not yet fully hit me, but I remember that the only thing I could fathom to say as I stepped out of my horse-drawn carriage and subsequently fell to my knees in the blackened snow was, "Well, it certainly looks as though I've missed the party…"

* * *

I couldn't quite tell you how many days it took to recover from the surprise of it all, only that to this day I _still_ wake up in the middle of the night, screaming for my big brother to come back to me. However, I did eventually manage to get out of the bed I had been confined to due to my sudden case of Hysterics, brought on by an enormous loss, and deliver my promised present to Lizzie, just as I had originally intended to do. I could not yet follow through with distributing Ciel's birthday present, though, because it turned out that the boy – although his incinerated corpse had not been found alongside his parents – had gone missing the day of the fire.

This was not a piece of information that I learned from anyone but myself, because I could not work up the courage to ask anyone – especially not my big sister – about it. No, instead I simply settled for side-saddling up a borrowed Midford mare and taking a canter into town, Ciel's new suit in tow. It was a morbid aspiration, but at the time in which I had presumed Ciel to have perished alongside his parental units, I was absolutely determined to have him wear the suit that I had gone to such lengths to acquire for him. So I had arrived, a jittery bundle of grieving nerves, at the doorstep of the town's mortician.

"Excuse me, can I come in?" I had hastily inquired whilst my knuckles rapped against the wooden door with such frequent force I was sure that they would bruise. It didn't matter that I didn't know the person in the slightest and that I was probably going to catch my death of cold, adventuring without a coat in the midst of a macabre winter, only that I could do what I set out to accomplish before any tragedies and traumas had happened to turn my world upside down.

"Certainly," A masculine voice from behind the door had purred. The frothy door-handle turned and jerked accordingly without my touch, and a loud, metallic click had resounded before the door came to a creaking open. "Ohoh~ what have we here?"

The man that had stood before me had muddled gray locks that were unexpectedly thick and fell well beyond his broad shoulders, and a fringe that excelled at hiding his curious eyes from view. Even though I could not see it, I was certain that he was sizing up my frazzled, violently shivering form, as it quivered before him, expecting entry into his peculiar place of business.

"It's cold outside and I have business with you, mortician." I had stated simply, indignantly as I stared him down. A manic grin seemed to stretch itself across his pale face and I recall that at that moment I was more concerned for the man's sanity than for my own well-being.

"I'm the undertaker, actually. It's smart of you to have come for a coffin fitting on such a wintry day since you'll surely catch your death of it out here~" He trilled as his smile widened, seeming to stretch the very parameters of his thin face. It was odd to see how giddy he was at the prospect of my impending death, but nevertheless he had moved aside, letting me inside in order to seek shelter from such a frigid fate.

"And I'm the Lady Phantomhive. I would like for you to outfit the remains of my nephew in _this_." I instructed, shoving the neatly packaged ensemble into his unsuspecting hands.

"What's this? A Phantomhive? I've had a lot to do with your lot this month, you know~" He replied cheerfully, placing what I had just given him upon a nearby table. I opened my mouth in order to reprimanding him for pouring metaphorical salt on the rather fresh wound, but he pressed onwards before I could utter a single word. "Although I dare say, _unfortunately_ the young master is not a client on whom I've been able to decorate…"

I was particularly puzzled at this. "Wait? Do you mean to say that the body of my nephew is not located here?!" I exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. After all, that fact alone could mean a number of things – the most optimistic of which being that if his corpse had not been found, than he could very well still be alive.

"'Fraid so, milady; As far as I've heard, he's not been found." The Undertaker confirmed, smirking wryly at the obvious pleasure this news had brought me.

"Well," I sniffed, twirling a lock of ebony hair around my index finger. "That's good then, I suppose. Thank you, _Undertaker,_ that will indeed be all." I finished, putting proper emphasis on his preferred vocational title. I had made to leave without any sort of elaborate farewell, but had been stopped in my tracks by the gentle touch of a calloused hand to my elbow.

"I don't think that would be wise, my dear. You live quite a ways from here and I can't be certain that you'll make it home safe. Please, allow me to offer up my humble abode for the night?" He suggested politely. I turned to glance at him out of the corner of my eyes and found not a lecherous expression, but an earnest smile.

"Well, I – that would be most improper, sir…" I countered as my cheeks tinted a fleeting pink. Hopefully it was hard for him to tell since they had already been rather flushed from the cold, though.

"Don't worry; I have no such unfavorable interest in a dog of the queen." Although his tone was warm enough, there was something rather threatening about the way he had addressed me with the base title that had always been synonymous with members of my family.

"Well, alright then, mister – " I paused mid-sentence as the undertaker shuffled me into the room, realizing at once that I knew nothing of his real name.

"_Just_ Undertaker," He replied shortly, shutting out the wind with the slam of a rotting door.

Although it was certainly unexpected to meet such a mysterious man, I think what became the crowning achievement of oddity that night was more importantly the fact that as the Undertaker, who was a man with a heart only for his work, lived in his mortuary; the only fitting place to sleep would be an empty coffin.


	2. His Auntie, Inviting

**"His Auntie, Inviting."**

_Inviting_: In-vi-ting /inˈvītiNG/

Offering the promise of an attractive or enjoyable experience.

* * *

"You do realize that if my young lord knew anything at all of this arrangement he would most _certainly _disapprove…"

I immediately recognized the black velvet voice and the house servant to which it belonged before I ever caught sight of the handsome devil in the reflection of my vanity mirror.

"Well then," I began as I ran an ornately accented silver brush through my extensive obsidian locks. It was best to find something to focus on when Sebastian Michaelis was present as, even for a lowly butler, he was rather beautiful – the kind of beautiful that proved dangerous to the reputation of a lady of the _queen_'s court. "I suppose it is most fortuitous for me that he is not yet awake to discover it."

The current sprucing task at hand seemed to require a great deal less concentration than I would have liked since the tangles had long since been swept from my hair the very moment in which I had stepped foot out of bed, and so I could not help but to sneak a few surreptitious glances at the distractingly pulchritudinous hired help.

"Is there something that I can help you with, my lady?" The crimson orbed footman beseeched and although the tone of his voice was innocent enough, I knew the teasing implications that came along with the anomalous twinkle in his eyes. It was clear to me that my lustful glimpses had not been as covert as I had originally planned and the footman in question was undoubtedly going to give me hell for it.

"Yes, while you are in here beleaguering me so, I thought it might be the perfect oppurtunity to suggest a trim. Your hair is getting unpleasantly shaggy, and for a butler belonging to the house of Phantomhive such disorder simply will _not _do." As if to emphasize my supposed displeasure, I gave the bemused male a look of total scrutiny. It was lie, of course, orchestrated only to cover my scandalous tracks. It would be indecent for me to ever say so, but I found Sebastian's hair to be rather dashing in its disheveled state.

"Yes, well," A smirk was present upon his lovely face, made obvious only by the very slightest upturn of pale lips. "If the head of house shares your sentiments, I can assure you I will take corrective grooming actions accordingly."

I always found it interesting, the game of cat-and-mouse the head butler and I had a fondness for playing. To the general amusement of the other servants in the house, Sebastian and I would always bait each other with cheeky taunts and witty retorts – a system that, on my part, I knew to be fueled by incredible sexual tension, but could only be the direct result of utter amusement in relation to my converse counterpart.

In my delighted reverie I must have been rather engrossed, for after several silent moments of inner contemplation, Sebastian Michaelis grew to be quite restless. "Will that be all, madam?"

I sighed despairingly. It was quite a feat of self-control to snuff out the lewd response that had immediately snapped to mind. '_No, that won't be all until you've had your way with me, you deplorable Adonis.~'_

"Lady Florence? I desire to know if I may be dismissed from your bed chambers. After all, it is nearly time for the young lord to be stirred." Sebastian reintroduced his question, equipped with a pleasant explanation for his need to hastily depart.

My cheeks bloomed with crimson fire, undoubtedly brought on by my shameful thoughts more than anything else, and I shook my head vigorously in order to will them away. "Y-Yes, Sebastian!" I squeaked, immediately cursing my weak sexual resolve.

He gave me an expectant stare which gave me the impression that I had not made the appropriate response, so taking a gulp of cool, morning air, I continued with my expulsion. "You may go now, and be quick about it! I can't have you congesting my escape route, leviathan."

The sudden name calling may have been a bit asinine, but it was the first thought that had entered my head the moment that I stood from my seat and realized for, perhaps, the billionth time since I had met him that Sebastian Michaelis completely towered over me. The aforementioned giant wasted no more words on me before bowing and slinking off down the hallway, undoubtedly headed for the room of my soundly sleeping nephew.

I sighed in sweet relief once his overwhelming presence had vanished from the room as I placed a gentle hand to my arrhythmic, vociferously thumping heart. "Good _Lord."_

Of course, I hardly had the time to spare for regaining my composure. It was quite plain that what Sebastian had said was meant to be taken as a warning of sorts, otherwise why would he have bothered informing me of the fact that Ciel was to be awoken soon? I certainly did not want to stick around to find out either way, so after taking one last critical peek at both the quaffed condition of my hair and the stately order of my navy blue day gown, I hiked up my skirts and made a mad dash for the exit. After all, I had been assured, days previously, that if I showed up fashionably late – as was my normal routine – Angelina Durless would have my head.

* * *

It had been roughly two years (although certainly not to the day) since the spontaneous fire that threatened to usurp the happiness of my regal clan, and, except for the inflexible loss of my elder brother and his blushing bride, order had finally returned to the noble house of Phantomhive – and by house, I _do_ mean house. You see, when Ciel, after a few, measly months of hopeless uncertainty, had returned to London, he had brought a suave and sagely new butler in tow. This butler, the very same one that I had developed a clandestine pining for, proved to be incredibly capable of performing not only the duties that were expected of him, but excess ones that he should not have even been capable of. For instance, the most notable accomplishment of the astonishing peasant was that he was able to effortlessly rebuilt and restore the family manor to its former glory. He was so skilled that other aristocrats often sought him out in order to hire him to their mansion staff instead, some even offering him grander things than even the new, adolescent Earl of Phantomhive could provide. Regardless of all propositions, though, Sebastian remained unyielding in his loyalty to my youngest nephew. It was such an odd, intense relationship that it made me wonder more so about where Sebastian had come from and _why_ exactly he and Ciel were so close than what "one hell of a butler" was capable of. However, Ciel's homecoming had brought with it more than just excellent service, it had accompanying it an air of the strangest secrecy.

Ciel had an eye patch now and contrary to what everyone had expected of him after his traumatizing tenth birthday, he had matured severely and become a cold, calculating shell of the boy he had once been. No, now Ciel Phantomhive, however prematurely, was a man, and those that dared to think otherwise always paid dearly for it in the end. Actually, now that I think about it, everyone, and not just those that oppose him, has suffered in some small way for Ciel's misfortune. The prime example of this would be little Elizabeth who, although overjoyed at the confirmation of Ciel's continued existence, was now consistently spurned by the boy she was doomed to wed. It was a sad sight to see in comparison to more minute results, like Tanaka's newfound and ultimately deformed Chibi condition, and the immeasurable burdens of stress that had begun to chip away at the shoulders of once carefree young adults like Madam Red and myself. It was hard, being part of a family that was shrouded in so many reticent short-comings, but I'm sure that I was better proof of that than darling Angelina. She had taken up quite a few wrinkles as a product of outliving every obstacle our family has ever had to face, but she always managed to overcome it with a wry smile and lively bit of gossip. I, on the other hand, was not so adept at dealing with disaster. That was probably why I was here now.

"Oh goodie, Florence~ I'm relieved to see that you are punctual at last!"

I was happy to see the sister of my late sister-in-law, certainly, but at the impromptu embrace that she gave me I felt a tad claustrophobic, as if I had been encased in a coffin of cruel crimson.

"Angelina, darling, you know that I would never let you down~" I retorted conversationally, stepping out of her embrace in order to clasp her black gloved hands within my own.

Growing up, Madam Red and I had never been particularly close, but now, after all that we had endured, I was fairly certain that we were as chummy as giggling, gregarious noblewomen could get in this day and age. I would quite like to tell you that she adored me due to my charming personality – actually, I might even be pleased if it was my childlike innocence that intrigued her – but in truth, it could only be the resemblance my eyes shared with the man with whom she had first fallen in love that drew her to me, something like a moth to fruitless flame. I imagine that she was fond of Ciel for reminiscent reasons of the very same caliber.

"Well, I, at the very least, had hoped that you wouldn't let _Lau_ down."

Stepping gracefully out of the carriage, he appeared. _He _was the only reason that I had graced Angelina with my presence today.

"Oh, I see now why you were so eager to ensure that we meet, Madam Red. This rare, English beauty is a flower I'm thankful to have not overlooked~"

The gorgeous Chinese nobleman in question smiled captivatingly at me and I felt my heart undergo a brief moment of gleeful tachycardia. When I had first reached a suitable courting age, there had been no gentleman around worthy of my interest. The same situation had also originally been a problem for my sister Frances, but she settled with marrying an engaging man of a slightly older age. When I was younger and much more stubborn I had no desire whatsoever to do so, and now there were no bachelors eligible to pursue my hand.

"You flatter me so – Mr. Lau, I presume?" I ventured to guess as I extended my hand for him to do with it in salutation as he saw fit. As I had secretly hoped, he brought his soft lips to my glove covered flesh.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Florence Phantomhive." He greeted glibly as I inwardly swooned.

It was suspiciously lucky that Angelina would have suddenly come up with a matchmaking ploy for me, completely out of the blue, when I was already twenty-three and reluctantly prepared to accept my life of solemn singularity. When she had approached me with the proposal of a strange, foreign man escorting me to tea at the Durless house, I had not been fooled, though. I had heard her whine before about such an "infuriating Asian man" as she had put it, and knew that she simply wanted to distract him so that Lau would leave her darling nephew alone. I suppose she wanted Ciel all to herself, but that was just how she was. Angelina had wanted everything to herself after the carriage accident that had cost her growing family not long before a fire had cost Ciel his own.

"Look at the two of you, getting on so famously! Oh, I am just wonderful at this!" Angelina squealed, her ruby red eyes swelling with glee.

"Ah, but any chemistry exhibited between the two of us is thanks to us and _us_ alone~" Lau countered, letting my hand delicately fall from his tender grasp. There was something so tantalizing about the way this new, striking man placed emphasis on terms that lumped us into an endearing unison that I could have ravaged him on the spot. What stopped me from doing so was not the raging rambles that had suddenly burst forth from Angelina's lips the very moment that Lau had discredited her, but rather the appearance of another person emerging from Lau's fancy carriage.

"Oh, yes!" Lau exclaimed, following my gaze to the voluptuous Chinese girl that had practically sashayed into view. "This is my assistant, Ran-Mao." And as if to confirm the superiority of her own existence, the busty, black-haired girl smirked.

It was at that moment that, as I despondently dragged myself into the foyer of my female companion's flamboyant mansion, I now understood exactly why Sebastian had insisted that Ciel would not approve of my romantic endeavors with such a fickle, flirtatious man.


	3. His Auntie, Loquacious

**"His Auntie, Loquacious."**

_Lo·qua·cious_/lōˈkwāSHəs/

Talkative.

* * *

"Rennie, I don't suggest drinkin' the _whole_ bottle—"

His eyes roamed my obviously inebriated figure – cheeks noticeably flushed, shoulders slumped, half-lidded eyes, and a quite slurred speech pattern.

I glared pointedly at him for, in my own opinion, the sudden implement of a rather calloused suggestion. "Y-You dun understand how it was! H-How 'm I to compete with a slag like 'er?"

Although I deemed it to be an antagonistic act at the time, the desperate snatch that the Undertaker made for my bottle of alcoholic beverage was probably meant to help me rather than hurt me.

"Oh, I dunno~" Undertaker hummed, smirking despite himself. "I think you've already bested her by _refraining_ from slutting up the noble house of Durless." His fingers itched pointedly, obviously in preparation for another mad grab.

I should have found the retort rather endearing in its complimentary state, however my only form of response was inane little hiccup. "Dig—" _Hiccup._ "Dignity, I daresay, goes down the drain once one must subject themselves to the supremacy of big, bouncing titties."

It was probably the most coherent statement I was able to utter since I had stumbled through the mortician's door, bottle of chilled champagne in hand and an atrabilious grimace plastered across my incarnadine face, and despite such a fact, it was also the most humorous. As was traditional of our mid-evening drunkard dates, Undertaker and I found ourselves suddenly whirling in a unified front of cachinnation.

"Heeheehee!" Undertaker chortled, shoulders shaking with the force of his earnest mirth. "Dearie, one day I should like to see if the young Earl's funny bone proves to be as colossal as yours. Perhaps then he wouldn't have to pay me with the butler's jokes…"

If I had been sober, I probably would have found it odd how wistful the man was to hear my little nephew tell a joke. As long as I had known him, though, Undertaker had always fervently preferred the gags of strangers to the gleam of a gold coin. In my most lady-like of manners, I managed to snort at the words that my dear friend had last spoken. "I can't imagine that 'bastian could be _too_ droll of a sub—" _Hiccup_. "–stitute!"

In my intense moment of contemplation over the matter, I had not focused enough of my attention upon maintaining possession of my lovely drink. Thus, Undertaker utilized the small window of opportunity and swiped it accordingly.

"Now then," Undertaker called, carelessly chugging the last bits of precious booze. "Well-endowed, is she?"

Fleetingly, I wondered if, considering that he _wa_s a male, if perhaps he was being rather licentious in his casual inquiry. After all, I had in great detail recounted the antics of Angelina's dinner fiasco with Undertaker. He had listened patiently, yes, but the only part he seemed purely interested in was Ran-Mao and her insufferable magnetism. Although, I suppose it probably didn't help a thing that I was so ailed by the emulation such character traits brought me.

"Like a right prostitute!" I wailed, pounding my fists against the splintering wood of the Undertaker's dinner table. The Undertaker's grin was thick with amusement as he stretched his pale fingers out in order to provide me with a comforting pat of the head, obviously finding great delight in my intoxicated misery.

"There, There, Rennie~" He sang, somewhat warbling in his emphatic tone. From beneath his silken mat of hair, his eyes roamed my downcast form. "You obviously need to _perk _up, eh?"

My cheeks burned with a frenzied fire, kept ablaze only by a drunken rage. How _dare_ he take a stab at my sensitive body image insecurities! "Are you seriously on about my saggy breasts now, you fiend? Is it not bad enough that I'm a miserable old shrew? Barren and flat-chested?! AND NOW THEY'RE SAGGING, YOU SAY? GOD DAMN YOU—" I howled, enraged by the very thought of the only person who could bring me solace, now causing me grief.

It was just as well that even he would betray me, though. In the end, all you have is the ability to get smashed. Before Undertaker could formulate some quick-witted apology in order to mitigate the mistake he had so obviously made, I conked out in the very midst of my brilliant rampage.

If I had only of held onto my consciousness a tad longer, it was certain I would have sighed at the useless observation of my drinking companion. "Should have gone with the Madeira, then, she'd of snoozed a lot sooner…"

* * *

I didn't drink Madeira or Sherry, though. I was a _lady_, after all. That's a status I manage to uphold even upon passing out piss-drunk upon a strange male's table, without chaperone and everything. And at any rate, I'm proud to say that I snagged the champagne straight from Angelina's dining room. It was the only sensible thing I could do upon storming out of her house, I'd say. The way that Lau looked at his "assistant" was devastating to me. I can't fathom why the Lady Red would find it a good idea to pair me off with a man who was too busy lusting after his courtesan to properly court with a noblewoman. It's also quite possible that she was a noblewoman of her own accord, back in China where she and her impious companion belonged. Certainly whatever the case was, I could not bother to stick around after dessert in order to truly find out. Lau was charming, surely, but incredibly less so when one considered that his courtship came complete with a preordained mistress.

After exiting the Durless household in a bitter flurry, I had known with great certainty the chiding that would await me if I returned to the house of Phantomhive. Inevitably, if asked, that dutiful head servant had little qualms with revealing to Ciel my secretive location. Thus the only problem-free place of residence I could turn to abruptly became Undertaker's meek domicile. Since the faithful day in which I had first met him, Undertaker and I had maintained a reserved kinship of sorts. One that somehow evolved to entail many an evening of fine wine and witty banter – the kind that was affordable when with Undertaker instead of Sebastian, as I had no desire to ravish someone I could scarcely get a good look at – that was always unceremoniously followed by an awkward night's rest within a hexagonal wooden box.

Being who I was – Lady Florence Ruxandra Phantomhive – naturally, I did not take well to sleeping the traditional way in such a morbid bed. Don't think I'm being high and mighty or anything, though, as coffins are not even beneath the wealthiest of mortals. No, I'm simply rather claustrophobic in that respect. I have no desire to doze off in standing position, completely closed off in such a comfortless object. Instead, I have managed to persuade my dear companion to have it done up like a proper guest bed. It is now lying horizontally in the corner, stuffed with thick sheets and a downy [1] comfort pillow (in order to help distract from the smell of death, you understand), and whilst it absolutely cannot compete with the bed that Sebastian does up for me every morning, it _will_ do.

When I woke up the next morning, it was in my aforementioned, make-shift sleeping chambers, and it was rather early indeed. I knew this not because I was traditionally an early riser or anything of the sort, but because my nephew's delicious man-servant had not yet appeared to fetch me.

I can only imagine that upon discovering my devastating absence, young Ciel scowled tenaciously and muttered something along the lines of, "Retrieve her first thing in the morning, Sebastian."

And, of course, like the obedient dog he is, Sebastian would have cheerfully replied, "Of _course_, my young master."

It was pitiable to me most of the time, how entirely compliant he was with the trying tasks a twelve-year-old boy consistently set out for him. Honestly, most staff members of any house would hardly be compelled to attend to the beck and call of such an inexperienced child. They would have only regarded him with fondness and facetiousness, and yet Ciel had managed to outfit his manor with a whole legion of buffoons that capitulated absolutely to his whim. It was incredible, really.

"Mmm…" I murmured, submerged in the customary act of pandiculation as my eyes sluggishly slid open. I was only awarded a few seconds of dreamy bliss before the ongoing throb set in. "_Shit!_" I howled, tense hands finding their way to my aching cranium.

The familiar "_heeheehee~_" of Undertaker drifted through the room, but I dared not reopen my eyes to look at him for fear that the piercing light of an English sunrise would mar me. "Don't worry, Rennie!" He assured me in his typically ridiculous tenor. "I never let the sunshine in 'ere! It rots the corpses a great deal faster than I'd like, you know!"

It was almost unendurable to have to remember that he had much greater concern for his abiotic clients than his beloved acquaintance of _two_ years. Therefore, I was probably more annoyed by that fact alone than my newborn hangover symptoms. "I have no desire to put up with your jocularity today, _Undie_." I stated simply although there was certainly a hint of repartee at the end of my declaration.

"_Hey_!" Undertaker wheezed and I didn't have to see his face to know that he was wincing at the utilization of such an engaging pet name. To be quite plain with you, though, I haven't the foggiest why he would get so wound up by it. After all, it's a great deal more becoming than simply calling him _Bloomers._

I huffed in annoyance at him. "If you're going to continue to call me something improperly informal, then I will be forced to do the same."

Bringing myself to a sluggish sitting position, my tattered blanket slid from my shoulders to my shamefully exposed knees. "I wonder what the little Phantomhive would say if he knew you were flashing your lower extremities at me so generously?" Undertaker contemplated humorously, bringing a hand to his ashen chin.

I could not help but blush at his blatant audacity. "How _dare_ you! I would never – I didn't mean for – _ugh_, you should know better than to have looked, commoner." I sniffed, attempting to distance myself from him with ample amounts of disdain. In an annoyed haste, I struggled to pull the legs of my muslin drawers back into their proper place – mid-calf – before following suit with adjusting my chemise, petticoat, skirt, and soft bustle. It was almost annoying to note that Undertaker had not bothered to loosen my corset or remove my bustle, things that were much too uncomfortable for sleep, yet at the same time it was satisfying to realize that, as some sort of gentleman, he had not taken any such sort of advantage of me in my weakened state.

Unfortunately for my disdainful approach, Undertaker did not fail to spot the pink hue to my thin cheeks. "What's _this_? Perhaps if you'd spared such a face for Lau instead of me, you might not be living the spinster life a day longer." He suggested coyly.

If possible, the coloring darkened to an irritated crimson. "I – I don't – after drinking hours, my social life becomes none of your business, Undertaker."

It was a sort of ritual we had, starting from the first day in which Undertaker had suggested a bit of beer to warm me up against the chill of December. After getting sufficiently wasted, I exhausted no time at all in divulging to him my tearful family tale. He listened, attempted to cheer me up with clever quips, and tucked me into a coffin the moment in which being conscious was much too much for my booze-flooded brain to handle. The next day we spoke nothing of it and the only remnants of our bonding time together was the whisper of the forbidden moniker "_Rennie_" on his goodbye lips.

"Don't be so coarse with me, love." He nearly whined despite the smile still gracing his lips. "Pining for Lau is not worth the wrinkles it will create in your pretty little brow. He's too chary of a character for your tastes, anyway."

Certainly his attempts at cheering me up would have been a lot more effective if they weren't so vague and coupled with the action of him stabbing through a fresh corpse. I swallowed the bilious grimace that such an action created, and instead decided to probe him for information that I was now quite curious about. "I thought you'd never met Lau before. What do you know of him that would make him suspicious?" I blinked.

"I know a _lot _of things," He commented offhandedly. The direction of his face (and in turn, probably his gaze) drifted from the horrific cadaver to the front door. "Such _as—"_

"Lady Florence, I am here to collect you on the orders of my goaded young master~"

At the honeyed voice of the butler, I allowed my head to go slack in utter annoyance.

"Damn it, Undertaker!" I growled from my miserable position. "If you knew he was nearly here, why didn't you inform me so I could make the proper escape?" I countered, feeling mildly betrayed.

"Lady Florence?" Sebastian repeated, knocking at the door with a gentle, gloved fist.

"Come now, Rennie," He began, placing his lacerating instruments by his side. "You know with that one there is no escape…and this way, at least I can temporarily turn him jokester for entrance into my impenetrable fortress."

I sighed at his nonsensical rational. _Impenetrable fortress_? That was laughable. This place was rotting from the inside out, and even if it wasn't I have absolutely no doubt that Sebastian would find his way inside with beautiful ease.

"I can't believe you would sell me out for a laugh, you traitor." I accused, utterly embittered as I rose from my bed chamber.

"With Sebastian, a laugh _and a half_ is always the congenial sum of recompense~" Undertaker corrected, slinking sly towards the door.

He needed to not even place his hand upon the door before witnessing it creak open with some incredible amount of archaic grace.

"Hello, Undertaker, I suspect you would like a joke for your troubles?" Sebastian smirked, devilishly so.

When Undertaker nodded enthusiastically, I groaned. Because you see, as it turns out, even the incessant pangs of a hefty hangover are preferred to the tyrannical admonishment of my lovable little nephew.

* * *

[1] Comfort Pillows – **Eye pillows**, also known as **dream pillows** are typically mask shaped or rectangular pouch made out of natural fabric such as cotton or silk and filled with natural scented and/or non-scented herbs.

At one time, eye pillows were called comfort pillows and were used in sickrooms to ease nightmares and to disguise the scent of illness. Herbs such as flax seed, lavender, chamomile, eucalyptus, and rose pedals were used as fillers in eye pillows to help comfort the sick and ease them to sleep.


	4. His Auntie, Sycophant

**"His Auntie, Sycophant."**

_syc·o·phant_ [sik-uh-fuhnt]

_noun_: a self-seeking, servile fatterer; fawning parasite.

* * *

My eyes locked in on the target at hand as he stomped about the gardens of Phantomhive manor. His bright blonde hair might have looked dashing, dancing against his pale skin in the wind if it had not been girlishly contained within the clamps of five kirby grips. At this particular time, his task was strictly topiary, as Sebastian had undoubtedly ordered him to attend to the chaotic growth of the foliage. He bit his lip in careful concentration as he made to prune a few messy clumps of leaves, instead he managed to chop the limb completely off with the lustrous blades of his hedge trimmers.

"Oh, _blimey!_" He exclaimed somewhat inconsolably as he allowed the tool to fall to the lushly green ground. "Sebastian'll have my head, he will…" He continued miserably, drawing his trademark straw hat over his eyes to shadow his pathetic tears from view. I sincerely wondered if young Finnegan realized at all that this blunder was no graver than any of the ones to have preceded it. Nevertheless, I allowed a warm smile to overtake my sulking face.

"Oh, _Finnegan_~" I trilled cordially, sticking my head awkwardly out of my open window in order to become more visible to the sullen servant. "Whatever is the matter, dear?" I questioned as if I had not been watching him expectantly from afar for hours.

His wide, viridian orbs gazed up at me in wonder from his slouched stance beneath the tree that was, conveniently enough, directly below my bedroom window. "Eh, _Mistress Florence?"_

I could not help but to giggle in an infantile manner at his flabbergasted expression. Certainly I was friendly with the servants of the house, but I never before quite bothered to concern myself with their contemptible afflictions. "Yes, Finnegan, why _are_ you bawling?" I decided to rephrase my question in a way that was more characteristic of me as I became increasingly disgusted with the snot streaming from his angular little nose.

"O-Oh, well, I…" Finnegan stuttered, ultimately embarrassed that he had been caught sniveling by the lady of the house. "J-Just allergies, my lady." He lied uneasily, streaking an arm across his wet face in order to rid himself of his displayed weakness.

"Is that so?" I quirked an eyebrow at him, shifting my gaze from his nervous form to the hardly groomed plantae species. It really was quite remarkable how the scrawny boy had managed to sever such a thick branch like that, I must say.

Following my apprehensive glance, Finnegan blanched considerably. "I-It was an accident, I tell you! I only meant to invoke the floral aesthetics of the Phantomhive landscape, but I – _oh_! Please don't tell the young master!" He bit his lip before adding as a decisive afterthought, "Or Sebastian! I beg of you, my lady!" Finnegan wailed melodramatically as he sank to his knees pleadingly in the dirt.

I resisted the urge to smirk smugly at the scene. Originally, I had only intended to use a moment of Finnegan's career weakness to bait him with a few coquettish gestures and charming words of empathetic wisdom. Why, I even utilized the skilled hands of Mey-Rin in order to have my hair done up in delicate curls and my face painted in brilliant eye, rouge, and lip color just to acquire his immediate fancy all the more. As it turned out, though, all I needed to resort to was blackmail.

"Of _course _I won't tell them!" I pledged, innocently batting my thick lashes at him. Finnegan immediately looked relieved at my seemingly sincere promise. "So long as you get me out of here…?" I bargained reticently. It was probably at that moment that he realized that my head was between cast-iron bars.

Finnegan squeaked. "Lady Florence! I can't do that – why, aren't you placed on, you know, [1]_rest cure_?" He gasped, resorting to whispering the last word in quiet distress.

All of my pretty patience was lost at this remark as my brow furrowed in unsightly anger. "HOW DARE YOU, YOU FOOLHARDY BOUNDER!" I screeched as my fingers curled tensely around my bars of total imprisonment. It took me a moment or two or regaining my composure to realize that it was absolutely beneath me to yell at someone of impecunious possessions in such a way. Exhaling slowly, I decided to reattempt to address the blonde that had been stunned into silence. "I am not suffering from [2]_hysterics_, Finnegan. I have simply been confined to my room because I have angered my young nephew by going on a dinner date with Lau."

As I say, what a confinement it was! The little bugger had locked me in my room for an _entire_ week now and I was beginning to worry that I might actually develop some sort of mental disorder from the absolute boredom. I was forced to eat my dinner in solitude, the only visitors I ever received were the hired help, and Sebastian had installed bars upon my window to ensure that I did not escape my severe punishment.

"My, that's unfortunate!" Finnegan called in absolute outrage at my current predicament. He placed a gentle hand to his heart in sympathy. I smiled charmingly at him for his concern.

"Isn't it just, _Finny_?" I nodded, testing the waters by making proper use of his given nickname. After all, if Ciel could refer to him so unofficially, then why couldn't I?

A heavy blush dusted his cheeks at my informality. "I can't imagine—" He began, gnawing on his bottom lip as he thought of how unfortunate it would be to be trapped in a bedroom.

"But you **can** imagine it, can't you? To want nothing more than to…be outside?" I pressed onwards with my friendly seduction. I knew full well what being outside in the sunshine meant to Finnegan; after all it was the only imbursement he had requested upon becoming a member of the Phantomhive family staff.

Apparently my question struck a chord in him as he slid his straw hat off and allowed it to hang from his neck, conveniently covering the odd tattoo that was hidden in the back. "Where would you like to go, Mistress?" He smiled garrulously.

I squealed. "Oh, Finnegan, you _are_ a darling!"

* * *

It was rather immoral of me, I suppose, but when Finnegan reappeared in my bed chambers I could not help but to plant an affectionate kiss on his soft cheeks.

"I was thinking, and I'd really to take a stroll through town with you! Perhaps we might bump into a few nobles who can get me up to speed on all the tittle-tattle." I explained, holding the male at arm's length in order to inform him of my traveling plans. Finny nodded good-naturedly and I could not help but to adore his acquiescence all the more.

"That would be fine, Lady Florence, I do need to run into town to fetch some duller hedge clippers, at any rate…" He agreed effortlessly. He really didn't need to say anything in response, though, as I'm certain that his pearly smile could have done all the talking for him.

I smoothed out the folds of my day gown before linking arms with the affable fellow. "You're so fascinating, Finny, it escapes me how I could have remained on such distant terms with a chap like you before today…" I complimented, eager to flatter. At this point I didn't need to, but it always helped to butter one up before forcing them to disobey their employer on your behalf. And at any rate; Finnegan really was interesting – if only because of his godlike strength.

We made for the door to my bedroom, which Finnegan had closed behind him upon utilizing his servant's copy of the house skeleton key to unlock it. It wouldn't do for Bardroy or Mey-Rin to wander by and catch me in the act of evasion. "We have to be quick about this, my lady, if you want to successfully see the sun." Finnegan warned, turning the door handle with a quick flick of the wrist. Upon opening it, the coast appeared to be clear for a sneaky departure. However, in the house of Phantomhive appearances were almost always deceiving.

"Going somewhere, Lady Florence…and _Finny_?" Sebastian smirked, appearing before us in the middle of a once empty hallway. I seethed at his prowess. When Ciel instructed Sebastian to keep me under lock and key, it was inevitable that he would do just that as, after all, he was a butler to the very core.

"If you must know, Finny was merely allowing me to stretch my legs in the hall for a bit of exercise!" I elaborated quite indignantly. Obviously, the clever cad was not buying it as he merely gazed at me with pursed lips and all-knowing eyes.

"Right," Sebastian nodded, obviously unconvinced. "And do you always dress this way for an exercise excursion?"

Finny began to fidget under Sebastian's piercing gaze as the achromatic butler took care to examine Finnegan and myself respectively. "Oh – well, you see, Sebastian –"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. This is what being a lady entails, and you – who I trust are not a female – would know nothing of such trials and tribulations and therefore have no right to judge." I countered, slightly offended. It was just unfortunate that he would predictably take notice of my extravagant attire and even more unlucky that I hadn't factored that in to my escape plan.

"I see, well, if you have gotten enough exercise, I will gladly relieve Finny of his escort duties and escort you back to your room where you belong." Sebastian offered smoothly as he placed a delicate hand on the exposed flesh of my uppermost back.

Bless his heart; Finnegan looked as if he wanted to come to my defense, but thinking better of it given his garden predicament, he stepped away from me spinelessly. "I'll be going back to the garden, then…" He mumbled. I gave the boy a withering stare.

"Finnegan fucked up the tree!" I tattled like the child that everyone perceived me to be. It didn't occur to me that I had uttered such unsavory language, as I had probably picked it up from listening to the riled rants of the supposed house chef, but I did feel slight remorse for the color that suddenly drained from Finnegan's sheepish face.

"_Lady Florence_!" He, quite like a dying fish, gaped openly at me.

Sebastian smirked in quiet glee at the juvenile display. "This is the fifth time this week that you have maimed my master's vegetation, Finny." Sebastian noted. It seemed to me that if it was only the fifth time, then Finnegan must have only been on topiary duty for five days.

"I know…I'm sorry, I'm trying so hard…" Finny muttered desolately, his shoulders slumping pitifully.

"Perhaps that is the problem?" Sebastian pointed out before turning to me. "Such language is quite unbecoming of a Lady Phantomhive." He remarked chidingly.

I huffed. "Yes, well, I seem to be losing my sophistication the longer you keep my locked up in my room like some dodgy ogre." I pointed out, crossing my arms over my chest.

"It is not _my_ will that keeps you captive, my lady." Sebastian stated simply, guiding me back to the room with tender simplicity.

"I realize that," I began, shoulders straightening. "And as such, I would like to plead my case with Ciel. After all, he may be the man of the house – but, goddamn it I'm _twenty-three_!" To complete my sudden tantrum, I stomped my foot against the hardwood floor.

"I fear that reason is precisely why my young master does not want you off gallivanting with Lau. It would be most wounding to the family's reputation if you ended up impregnated by a foreigner." Sebastian revealed, positively beaming at the discomfort such a thought brought me. He was taunting me and Ciel was overanalyzing things, obviously. I was a virgin and not about to be deflowered by some Chinese Casanova.

"Well, that's just ridiculous! And it is a fear that belittles my womanly resolve!" I shouted, glaring daggers at the misunderstanding fool.

"Alright," Sebastian called in a careless coo. He shoved me within my bedroom and promptly closed the door in my face. "I shall ask my master to take that into consideration, but it might interest you to know that the reason I was in this wing of the mansion was not to foil any romantic flees—" He began, and although I didn't see it, Sebastian spared the young Finnegan, who had not yet evaded the hall, a suggestive glance. "Rather, my young lord wished me to inform you that when we ride into town to acquire information from the Undertaker on Jack The Ripper, you are permitted to attend." At the juicy piece of information, I could have swooned in delight.

"Really? I get to leave this bloody prison cell, you say?" I perked up at the very possibility.

Sebastian nodded, out of my line of sight. "Yes, but before your writhe about in euphoria, you might take the time to consider that perhaps Ciel has caged you for the protection of your life rather than your reputation. It's quite possible that he merely fears losing you to the serial killer, rather than to a flighty fling."

I took the time to reflect upon this charming prospect. It was true that Ciel may have seemed distant to me now, as if he cared not for me at all, but I knew that at the very least I was important to him as the Phantomhive ring. After all, we shared a similar trait of being the only remnants of his father that the orphaned boy had left.

Ciel didn't want me to get abducted and dissected by that dreadful ripper fellow.

"I shall leave you to your penitence, my lady." Sebastian's sardonic statement drifted through my ears just as an alarming fact hit me.

Jack The Ripper was known for only killing **prostitutes**.

"_SEBASTIAN_!" I howled and I'm quite certain the sound of it echoed throughout the whole house.

* * *

**[1] Rest Cure** – Also known as _Bed Rest_ or the _Bed Rest Cure_. This was a cure that encompassed confining people, generally women, to their beds for long periods of time until they were cured of whatever ailed them – generally hysterics and the like. As ladies generally had nothing to stimulate their interest in this condition, this treatment tended to do them more harm than good. Don't believe me? Read _The Yellow Wallpaper._ Haha~

**[2] Hysteria/Hysterics –** A rather sexist condition, if you ask me. As it is from the Greek ὑστέρα "_hystera_" = uterus. It was characterized by a disturbance of the uterus and marked as a condition unique to women. I could write you a lot more on it, but I don't feel the need. Google it if you are continuously curious about it.


	5. His Auntie, Invigorated

**"His Auntie, Invigorated."**

_Invigorated_: past participle, past tense of in·vig·or·ate

_Verb_: Give strength or energy to.

* * *

"You are _not_ to run off on your own, Florence."

It was odd, the air of finality that almost always accompanied the commands of young Ciel. Why, I recall when he used that very same prepubescent tone to tug on the hem of my skirts and ask me typical tyke questions. For instance, "_Auntie Ren, why is the sky blue?" _or even "_Auntie Ren_, _where do babies come from_?" That last one, if I recall, had been a right laugh to tell Vincent about. Just as Ciel does now when mentions of such things arise, Vincent always retained the childish trait of blushing barefacedly about such mature things.

"You are _not_ to make a mess of the townhouse, Florence."

Although the endearing characteristics of younger Ciel had since vanished from this prematurely hardened boy – and really, it was just so charming to be called _Auntie Ren_! – he still remained extraordinarily easy to read, even as he had made the leap from innocent to aloofly feral. The same could not be said, however, for dear Sebastian. Certainly he had gone on his spiel about finding the good intentions in my nephew's harsh decisions, but what he had neglected to tell me about the invitation of accompaniment that had been ever so suddenly extended to me is that the danger of leaving me alone with Finnnegan, Bardroy, Mey-Rin, and Tanaka was far too great. So, really it's not that Ciel was worried about me or thinking basely of me, no, he just proved to be incredibly wary about my ability to persuade the hired help.

"You are _not_ to go seeking out the companionship of strangers, Florence."

That rationale is most likely why none of the aforementioned servants were present. The only serf to attend to us on this trip at all was, as always, steadfast Sebastian. It was at moments like these, when I could practically see the metaphorical leash that tethered him to Ciel's side, that I wondered why I had no specific butler of my own.

"You are _not_ permitted to indulge upon frivolous shopping sprees, Florence."

I would definitely have to look into hiring one at this rate. Just so I could have my own, stanchly devoted, pretty boy to do my bidding. However, it's undeniable that Sebastian's type was one of a kind – a bad boy that bended to every beck and call – so, I think the best type of butler for me would be meek and bespectacled, but attractive all the same. Maybe something like that frazzled servant of Angelina's…

"You are to _remember_ that your presence here is merely an act of my absolute benevolence, and shall respect the guidelines I have laid out for you accordingly as you are still far from the safety of my good graces at this moment."

And just what was his name? Gregory? Gunter? _George_? No, no, it was certainly something a bit more exotic than that. Now, what was it?

"Have I made myself _quite_ clear, Florence?"

Maybe he was Italian? Giovanni, perhaps?

"AUNT FLORENCE!" Ciel roared, totally maddened by my lack of attention.

Finally, I allowed my gaze to flicker across his terse face. His lone, visible eye was squinted in an irritated manner, and his lips were drawn in a flat line of utter annoyance. All in all, it was most unbecoming of a boy, according to his age, who should not have been capable of pulling such an expression.

"I have absolutely no desire to go against the word of my gracious master." I retorted lazily, my tone coming off a bit more snarkish then Ciel surely would have liked as I returned my gaze to the window of our horse-drawn carriage.

"That's better – FLORENCE! I am your master by no means—" Ciel began, becoming oddly flustered at my peculiar compliance.

"Damn straight, you aren't." I snorted, rather glad that he realized the bitter truth of it. Ciel would never be my master, although, I'm ashamed to say that since he was the man of the house – I was forced to be a great deal more submissive with his authority than I would have liked. If you did not realize the urgent need of it before, surely now you can see that getting married is a must for me. As it were, I would be much more inclined to surrender to my husband rather than my pompous little regal relation.

"How _dare_ you take that tone with me!" He scowled heatedly at my obvious indignation. "I allow you to live in my house, provide you with everything you've ever wanted—" He began, his tone deepening with his outrage.

"If you had provided me with everything I had ever wanted, you silly boy, then I would be basking in freedom rather than begging for the chance to step outside." I huffed.

Softening slightly at the sight of me, as bitter tears had begun to gather at the brim of my eyes, Ciel opened his mouth in attempts to speak again. "_Florence…_"

"And whilst we're at it, you insufferable tot, **Edward** has always been my favorite."

The carriage was forced into a disheartening stillness at my caustic disclosure. Unlike what, say, Finnegan would have done, Sebastian kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to speak at a moment in which both his young master and I were on the verge of total warfare. Ciel kept my gaze, his burning glare scorching my very soul, before he slowly turned away from me.

"As _Madam Red_ has always been mine." He retorted, his voice quite clipped.

* * *

It was absolutely invigorating, the feeling of his lips against mine. Whether or not my partner in crime knew it to be true, this was the first time I had ever permitted someone to steal a kiss from my virgin lips. Well, alright, maybe it was the other way around? Perhaps, out of my utter irritation with Ciel, I had intentionally brought Lau into a kiss – just to vex the sulking child all the more. Whatever the case, the Chinese man whose mouth was practically glued to mine made no noise of complaint.

"FLORENCE!" This was the general cry of outright shock that resonated throughout the overly occupied room of the Phantomhive townhouse, a place I had not been since before Ciel had mastered the art of walking. Although, I daresay that the tone implemented in each outraged cry was severely different betwixt the way Ciel and Angelina said it. Ciel seemed to be completely livid whilst Angelina was merely thrilled.

Pulling away from the dazed oriental man, I smirked casually at the irritated Earl. Although it was obvious that he was annoyed with me, I could not help but notice the familiar splatter of pink across his cheeks. "Is there a problem, Ciel?" I winked.

Whilst Ciel fumbled for something to say, Lau reclined against a comfy green loveseat. I suppose what made this scandalous exchange all the better was the distinct absence of Ran-Mao. "Why, Lady Florence," He began, his eyes boring lustfully into mine. "What a pleasant surprise~" He purred.

This seemed to result in intensifying Ciel's discomfort. "I will not have such a display within my home!" Ciel insisted, promptly looking away from Lau and I and turning his attention to Angelina. "What _are_ you doing, Madam Red?" He inquired curiously as he eyed the redhead that was busy rummaging through a china cabinet.

"I can't seem to recall where you keep the tea in this place!" She giggled girlishly.

Ciel frowned. "Perhaps I should have rephrased my question…" He began as his gaze flickered from Lau to Angelina and finally to her butler. "What are all of you doing here?!"

"Goodness, you're early…" Angelina mumbled thoughtfully as she backed away from the cabinet. At the same time, Lau rose to his feet.

"You coming here can only mean one thing…" Lau began, his eyes closed and his lips upturned in a dashing smile. It seemed that all of the jesting had vanished from the faces of the normally impractical duo as it was now Angelina's turn to speak.

"The Queen's guard dogs are making a move."

Ciel said nothing at the implication, inwardly knowing that they were quite right. Meanwhile, I could not help but exhale flippantly at the exchange. Guard _dogs_? Ah, it's been quite awhile since I've been roped into a foxhunt.

* * *

"Another prostitute was murdered in Whitechapel yesterday." Ciel began, cutting to the point over a quaint cup of tea and a delicate plate of sponge-fingers. It was always so sweet, the things we discussed over tea. "These aren't ordinary murders, they're bizarre…No, you could fairly call them aberrant. A special blade was used on the most recent victim, Mary Ann Nichols." Ciel informed. I listened passively to him whilst digging into a slice of Pear and Blackberry Cornmeal Cake.

"And she was torn apart beyond recognition…" Sebastian finished for the boy. Ciel might have matured a great deal since Vincent and Rachel's passing, but he was still a squeamish child at heart.

Ciel took a bite of cake, probably to calm his nerves, before proceeding. "Here's what Scotland Yard and the press are calling the criminals: Jack The Ripper."

The foreboding way in which he concluded his statement struck a chord in me. It was honestly rather frightening to think of a male that could corner you in a dark alley and dissect your lady parts out of the blue. Well, _if_ you were a prostitute, of course. Recalling the stab the butler had taken at me by calling me such beforehand, I shot a glare Sebastian's way.

"Jack The Ripper, eh?" Lau called thoughtfully. Probably due to being startled by the news, Angelina and her butler remained silent.

"So, I hurried to London to ascertain the situation." Ciel concluded, cutting a small piece of his cake slice.

Lau smirked, setting his tea down gracefully. "Do you have the guts to the see the scene of the crime?"

"…What do you mean?" Ciel asked circumspectly. It seemed that ever since I had encountered Lau in a romantic light, Ciel's regard of him had changed.

"The darkness and bestial stench that pervades the scene eat away at those that share the same destiny. If you set foot upon it, you may be consumed by madness. Are you prepared for that, Lord Phantomhive?" Lau finished as he placed a gentle hand on Ciel's face.

This seemed to heighten Ciel's hyperawareness. "I came here to dispel _her _worries. Don't ask foolish questions." He all but snarled at the other male.

Lau smiled charmingly. "Very good," He commented. "I like the look in your eyes."

I swooned dreamily at his statement. '_And I like the look of your fine physique~'_

Angelina gave me an omnipotent glimpse as if she could read my unpardonable thoughts. I was shamefully shrunken at being caught in the act. When Angelina merely smiled at me afterwards, however, I knew that my perverted mind was not as intolerable as I originally might have thought. In an attempt to distance myself from my previous moment of weakness, I sighed miserably and somewhat goofily.

"And here I was under the impression that I would get to see my beloved best friend again…"


	6. His Auntie, Apprehensive

**"His Auntie, Apprehensive."**

_ap·pre·hen·sive_/ˌapriˈhensiv/

_Adjective_: Anxious or fearful that something bad or unpleasant will happen.

* * *

"My _darling~!_" I cooed, placing two delicate air kisses upon his porcelain cheeks. Whether he meant to or not, upon grasping my tiny hands within his own the lengthy black nails of the Undertaker sliced at my skin, leaving thin lacerations across my knuckles.

"Rennie…" He smiled earnestly at me. Others upon first glance might have deemed the look to be full of warmth, but I knew better. Yes, it was a grin of utter anticipation.

"Oh, _alright_…" I sighed, giving into what I interpreted to be Undertaker's best puppy dog pout. You always had to interpret and use your best educated guess with that one, as it was difficult to decipher the meaning of his actions when you could never find the truth of it in his sheltered eyes. "Why is a dog like a tree?"

At the implication of a joke, arguably one of his favorite things in the world, Undertaker began to rock back and forth upon his heels in evident exhilaration. "Oh, yes! _Heehee~_ I haven't the foggiest, my dear! Do tell!" He insisted after a moment of thoughtful, contemplative hums.

I waited coyly for the expectancy to effervesce within the room – not just in Undertaker's disposition – as, after all, I was not the only guest within the house of the town's mortician at this particular moment. In fact, Ciel, Sebastian, Lau, Angelina, and her butler were all sitting in stunned silence at the sociable display of the Undertaker and I.

"Oh, _Florence_, get on with it, will you?" Angelina called, being the first to lose her patience. Inwardly, I couldn't help but to snub her for such a reveal. She may have been one of the most sought after ladies in London, but I hardly found her to be a real, proper lady at all. Ladies were supposed to have the patience of God, after all.

After shooting the sister of my late sister-in-law a quick, rather teed off expression, I turned my attention back to my dear, silver-haired companion. "They both lose their bark after they're dead!"

Surely the comical tale in question had not been that humorous to behold, but Undertaker broke into a fit of giggles nevertheless. I'd like to believe that this was because of the subtle mention of fatality within the yarn, more so than anything else. "THAT'S A GOOD ONE!" The Undertaker wailed between bated breaths and right fits of uncontrollable laughter.

As the Undertaker continued to cachinnate away, I became increasingly anxious for my reward. "Undertaker, I've paid you in full, so now—" I began obstinately as I narrowed my eyes at him.

Sobering up almost immediately, the Undertaker nodded. "Oh, yes, don't think that I've forgotten~" And without further ado, the side-splitting male scooped me up into a balmy embrace.

Above all else, it was moments like this that I cherished the most. There may not have been any sort of romantic aura between the two of us, but Undertaker was still my closest friend. Unlike Ciel, he listened to my stupid afflictions without fail and always managed to comfort me after hearing them. In exchange, I was never one to pass up the request of delivering a good laugh, and additionally, I was probably exceedingly hilarious to deal with when under the influence of alcohol.

_AHEM._

I was surprise to find that the first noise of displeasure to be executed within the room came not from the tiny throat of Ciel, but instead originated out of Lau. "So dealing with the bodies of a dead is merely a cover job, is it? Well, how much would you like in exchange for the information—" He inquired, getting down to business in the midst of my juvenile romp.

The Undertaker stepped away from me, positively leering at the misunderstanding fellow. "I HAVE NO USE FOR THE QUEEN'S COINS!" Undertaker dismissed in a booming tone, scurrying up to Lau's side. Lau looked taken aback at the announcement.

Desiring to enlighten him, I took a careful step towards him. "_Lau_—" I began tentatively. At the mention of the foreign man's name, Undertaker blinked. It was quite possible that he recognized the name from my drunken rambles of an earlier date. The Undertaker looked at Lau intently, as if to size him up accordingly, before turning to Ciel.

"Come on, my lord, give it to me!" He pleaded like a right beggar. When Ciel stared blankly at him in response, the Undertaker's jovial grin widened. "Give me prime laughter!"

At this statement, Angelina blinked in confusion. "If that's what you're after, did not Florence's gag do the trick?"

The Undertaker looked at her ephemerally, and then his gaze locked upon my cheerful face. "Florence pays me for affection, you see—" He began. I blushed scarlet at his wording.

"That's not how it is!" I squeaked, desperately trying to reassure the now incredibly suspicious Chinese nobleman. "We're _friends_!" I added resolutely. Even at my insistence, Lau remained eerily stone-faced.

The Undertaker snickered at my disconcerted state. "She enjoys a nice hug, now and then, and I am happy to oblige her for a decent laugh."

"Provide me with that, and I'll tell you anything~" The Undertaker informed, holding himself as he wriggled about the room in pure bliss. I did not miss the particular glance that he shot Lau's way, before continuing on with his pleasurable prattle.

"Freak," Angelina's butler murmured quietly.

"Leave it to me!" Lau called, obviously up for accepting the challenge. "Behold the man that Shanghai called the sleeping tiger of New Year's parties!" He exclaimed dramatically.

Raising his index finger high into the air, Lau smiled at Undertaker with closed eyes. "Every Calendar's days are numbered!"

The sudden sound of cricket chirps to be heard within the room probably served only to emphasize the terrible nature of Lau's pun. Undertaker was _not _amused, it seemed.

Next, Angelina would be the one to step up to bat. "If I must…" She began, standing confidently before my dear friend. "Madam Red, the belle of fashionable society, will tell you her special story!" I absolutely could not wait for the abomination of a tale to escape her lips. Angelina's idea of funny, as it turned out, generally involved petty gossip or indecent sexual stories.

"So, his [CENSORED] was completely flaccid and [CENSORED], but when I [CENSORED], the [CENSORED] tip stared bobbing like [CENSORED]—" Angelina began on her, as I predicted, overly inappropriate spiel. Just as certain words were unprintable, they were also, I'm quite certain, too mature for Ciel to hear. So, like the good Auntie that I was, I clapped my hands firmly over his innocent ears.

"Ah, Ah, Ah! Too grown up for my little _Ci-Ci_~" I taunted warmly. Whether I noticed it or not, Undertaker chuckled at my ridiculous behavior.

"Well, my young lord, it seems you're the only one left…" He called as the aforementioned Earl swatted my hands away. What Undertaker meant to say, of course, was that it was now Sebastian's turn to amuse him.

* * *

"_AAAAAHHHH!"_

I could not help but sneer at the pathetic scream as I rapped my knuckles languidly against Ciel's bedroom door. "OI! WOMAN UP IN THERE, WOULD YOU?!" I called, quite calloused.

Honestly, his inability to take the pain was embarrassing to me. As a woman, I was forced into a suffocating corset every single day of my life. So, the fact that a _man_ could not take it, even for a moment, was expectantly depressing. After my exclamation, I half-expected Ciel to retort with something thoughtless - rather along the lines of, "Yes, well, _you_ try wearing one of these things!" Until it came it his attention that I was already fitted in one that was, I daresay, much tighter than his. Instead, though, Ciel's only response was another guttural cry.

"_AAAAHHHH_!"

"_Tch_," I scoffed at his apparent weakness. At this rate, it will be my greatest pleasure to see him suffer on the ballroom floor. After all, that's why he was suiting up in women's attire in the first place.

You see, after Sebastian had thoroughly delighted the Undertaker's funny bone, he had revealed to us a great deal of information about Jack The Ripper. Namely, that he had a fondness for removing the wombs of his victims in a neat, borderline surgical manner. This could only mean that the ripper fellow must have some sort of medical experience. So, Sebastian made a list of suspects, acquired alibis, and narrowed it down to the pedophile noble, the Viscount Druitt. If you hadn't of figured it out by now, I can assure you that is the only reason why Ciel was being forced to don a dress and attend the ball as a supposed lady love.

It was just unfortunate for him that I was a Phantomhive and Angelina was already a notable lady of the court, otherwise either of us might have been forced to act in our nephew's stead. It was supposed to be a rather elegant endeavor, this ball, and I was now thoroughly disappointed to find that I would be forced to decline the invitation that had been sent to me. It wasn't as if I really had a hope of attending beforehand, since Ciel seemed to have an iron-grip on my social life, but at the very least as an agent of the Queen I was under the impression that I'd be able to attend and scope the place out for her – get to the bottom of this Viscount business, if you will.

Now my only plans for the night were to be babysat by the Undertaker who graciously agreed after receiving the compensation of another side-splitting joke, straight from the lips of Sebastian.

It wasn't really a big deal, though, as two can play the game of persuasion – especially when it comes to the easily swayed town mortician.

* * *

"You know, I originally wanted you to be born a girl! I was quite on the verge of convincing Rachel to name you _Cecilia_ before you erupted from her blessed loins~" I remarked, giggling in amusement at the effeminate state of my proud nephew. Since Angelina was much too big and busty to accommodate Ciel with a disguise, it became my job to outfit him for the ball. It was rather depressing to find that, even despite the breast difference, we were the same size in garments. So, Ciel was borrowing a particularly pretty, pastel pink dress from my extensive wardrobe tonight – and might I say, it looked much better on him than it ever had on me.

Ciel fumed at my repartee as he tilted his prissy hat further over his face if only to hide his crimson cheeks from my view. "S-_Shut up_!" He hissed vehemently.

Thankfully for him, before I could delve into another bout of mockery, the carriage rolled to a sudden stop in front of the Undertaker's residence. "We have arrived, my young lord~" Sebastian pointed out and I must admit that he still looked rather dashing, festooned in the masquerade of _Lady Cecilia's _tutor.

"Good." Ciel smirked, turning to me. "Do get out, Florence, and if I find that you have at all strayed from your predestined location – well, _Sebastian_ will be forced to act as reconnaissance."

The warning tone laced within his authoritative voice had me absolutely shaking in my boots. "Have a lovely time on your **date** with the devil, my young niece~" I trilled, smirking at the embarrassment it brought to Ciel who was, to my amusement, seated much too close for comfort to his butler. If he were not thoroughly infatuated with Lizzie, sometimes I would be forced to wonder about the origin of their relationship.

When the carriage thundered into sudden locomotion, I smirked and skipped gleefully into the Undertaker's dreary dwelling. "I'm back – _again_!" I announced upon entering his home. It was quite unusual for me to frequent his establishment so much in one week, let alone in one day, but it's safe to say that neither of us minded. Secretly, I think the Undertaker enjoyed a bit of living company now and again, and I just enjoyed getting out of my house.

"Gone to the ball then, have they?" Undertaker inquired, brushing the hair of a dead girl. I wrinkled my nose up at the fond display as, after all, she was quite the unliving corpse.

"Yes, I'm afraid so…" I nodded, a bit crestfallen at my inability to go. After all, there were bound to be tons of eligible bachelors present there – including Lau.

"Lot of good that'll do them!" The Undertaker cackled quietly to himself as he sat the brush down. I quirked a brow at his vague statement, sincerely trying my hardest to look at him rather than his client. There were deep bruises around her neck and her face – lips in particular – had taken on an unpleasant blue tint. Thus, I suspected that she was a victim of strangulation and not at all one of Jack's ladies.

"Her name's Jillian Pennyworth – the mistress of a certain _Duke_." Undertaker commented, noticing my sudden curiosity at once. I gasped at this newfound information.

"_No_! You don't mean – Calvin Alderdice was cheating on his wife?!" I floundered like a fish at the realization. This was quite the juicy piece of gossip – the knowledge of such things was one of the reasons I was so fond of Undertaker.

"Yes, surprising, isn't it? He's always been pegged as such a trustworthy lad! This 'ere girly, though, I'm sure you can guess who ended her life, eh?" He smirked.

Of _course_ I could guess. As beautiful as this girl was, even in death, I had no doubt in my mind that Evelyn Alderdice had been the one to squeeze every last drop of air out of her lungs. "Evelyn always was a jealous old harpy," I commented wryly.

Undertaker nodded pleasantly at my comment. "Yes, and now the murderess wretch is down a handmaid!" Undertaker chortled cutely.

I positively beamed at his antics. Certainly Angelina was always a fun one to discuss gossip with, but Undertaker was always the reason I was able to discuss it. He seemed to know everything of the odds and ends of London. _Speaking_ of which…

"What do you mean going to the ball won't do them any good?" I questioned him, quite unprepared for the shocking answer I was sure to receive.

"I mean, it won't do to go looking for Jack when he's right under your nose!" He explained and as always, this piece of information was followed by a lively laugh.

"What are you saying…?" I questioned unsurely. It couldn't be that he was saying that _he_ was Jack The Ripper, could he? If that was the case… Slowly, I began to back away from my suspicious friend.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. I only mean that, instead of searching for a Jack, they should have been open to the possibility of a _Jill_~"

My brow furrowed in confusion at this. "I don't have time for your silly Mother Goose stories, Undertaker!" I exclaimed, feigning a yawn in supposed boredom.

"Alright then," He called, gesturing to the dead girl below him. "Take Jillian, for instance, she's a prime example of the capability of women to kill, is she not?"

I blanched. "Are you saying that the serial killer is _Jill The Ripper_? A woman?" I accused in utter disbelief.

Undertaker nodded fervently at my assessment. "Why shouldn't she be a jealous, infertile woman? As it were, a man would not have been quite so fixated on the uterus, I'd say."

It took a moment or two for my eyes to widen, taking in all the information. Undertaker definitely had a point there. If he were right, though, then that would mean that he probably had a suspect in mind that was far from the Viscount Druitt – but who? Who could be a Jill The Ripper that was "right under my nose" ?

"You must have your thoughts on her identity, then, Undertaker," I began, my voice becoming unsteady in my alarm. "Who is it?" I inquired finally although a part of me feared the result of my questions.

"All I'm saying is," Undertaker began, his grin leveling out into a flat line. "I wouldn't allow myself to come across that Madam Red of yours in a dark alley!" And then he promptly burst into laughter once more.

Madam Red? Angelina Durless? Undertaker thought her to be the homicidal maniac whose alias was, as of recently, the name on everyone's lips? I snorted. Well, that would certainly do well for her mountainous ego – but, also, it would make incredible sense.

Angelina had lost her baby and her husband not long before Ciel had lost his parents, and Angelina had always been wantonly jealous of her sister when it came to Vincent. As popular as Angelina seemed to be, she was always the one incapable of getting what she wanted. So, why shouldn't her covetous nature drive her to such a terrible sin?

My eyes narrowed into slits at the truth of it all. Ciel meant to foil the ripper for the sake of the queen, but he didn't even know that the killer had been there – blaringly obvious and by his side the whole of the day. Whether it was due to a deep-seeded compassion for my cruel Ciel, or my unbending obligation to my Queen – I knew that I had to do something about this.

"Undertaker, I trust you know what we have to do now." I stated emphatically.

A bloodthirsty grin usurped the childish smile that had once bejeweled his face. "I do, of course! But I hope you know how much I detest parties! A room full of people that would look so much better _dead_…" He replied wistfully. I set aside my need to shiver at his rather creepy statement and instead focused at the task at hand.

Even if she was such a dear for setting me up with Lau – that hedonistic harlot needed to be stopped cold in her cute crimson tracks.


End file.
